


Perfect

by spacepuppydog



Category: freeform - Fandom
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-27 23:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18200522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacepuppydog/pseuds/spacepuppydog
Summary: This is just like a rant. Me writing down feelings about some bullies and stuff. please if you really are struggling with self harm get help. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-8255. stay safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi..

Think of the word  perfect. I’m guessing you see it as this word that is supposed to set the tone for the only world that can make you happy. A heaven on earth. It could be a person.. or an animal or maybe it's just a memory of a tiny orange flower. We think the world is set on a movie script that makes us the main character that wins at everything they do. That person is you. You. Are you  Perfect? To me… everyone is perfect in their own beautifully broken way. Yet still most of us want to change our bodies. We stick pins and needles into our minds and face to try and get to that  Perfect world. That  Perfect body.  Perfect.. why are we so obsessed with  Perfect? It's because we want to be happy.  Perfect doesn’t make you happy though.  Perfect  is only a tiny word. A tiny word that we let tell us what will make us happy.  Perfect  doesn’t exist in the way you will want it.. We don’t get what we want because  Perfect is writing your script. Its trying to get you to  love the world but in the process its making you hate this magnificent dot. The world is like a  melody  that's beautiful but doesn’t beat to the same rhythm of our made up rules. Those rules had been echoed, been echoed, been echoed into our pinned up mind's telling us the rules and making us think we made them.  Perfect bends itself to each person to try and make us all the same. We want the world to be  perfect and beat to our flat hearts. The  truth is  Perfect is just what we make it. If we make it blonde hair and blue eyes right off the bat then nothing is going to be  Perfect. We set the bar so high for our appearance and for the world and future that we forget that we make the world  Perfect. We forget to just enjoy living on this tiny blue dot. We only get this one tiny blue dot floating in the vast void of the infinite cosmos. We try and label everything that we think should have a different label than  Perfect. This world is the only world we get. Is it possible to make this world  Perfect? It will only be  truly Perfect  when we block out perfections rules for us to be beautiful. Only then we will be happy… but the problem with that is  Perfect is a bitch that worms its way into even the most indestructible iron walls. It finds the tiniest cracks of doubt and then it takes that doubt and uses it like a bullet through glass. It shatters your happiness. It takes that anxiety and doubt and watches it bloom like a twisted willow tree with shackles for branches and leaves. this tree planted its roots in hell and let the demons inside us feed on its hollow fruits so they could grow with it.  Perfect…  it doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have to let  Perfection  into our hearts so it can plant its demonic trees. We can just believe that the demons that sprouted from perfection are wrong. The demons that tell you that you're ugly…. They are wrong. If you can't see that then take my eyes and see what I see. My eyes will be the X-ray that shows you that who you are is on the inside not what the  Perfect demons  see. Those slashed scars on your wrists are the proof that  perfection tried to tear you down. Under those scars are the colors and emotions that  Perfect  can't understand.  Perfect  can't understand that you resisted and are still here today. Those scars are not from a simple kitchen knife. Its from the blade you used to try and fight the war. Your wrists are the battlefield you fought those labels on. Yes some of us fell on the minefield at night but you. You are still here. You are still living on this blue dot. There are still others fighting  Perfection… they need help… so show them that there are others like them that have won. Show them that they can win too.


	2. Map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yeah this one is another like.... rant thing

Maps..

Maps they show us the way.

They show us where we need to go. 

They show us the ways that we can go.

“Do I turn left? Or…. Did I take a wrong turn?”

It always turns into a maze of doubt and confusion. 

What if we got a map for life? What would that be like?

Well it would be that same maze. Only this time you have a map that you can’t read so you are just slowly drifting through a tidal wave of “is this the right thing?” 

No turn is ever the wrong turn on a map.

Theres always an alternate route may it be long or short, dark and bloody or clean and bright. 

Theres always another way. 

It might not be easy or to the point but… you’ll make it. 

This maze does have an end. This ocean does have a surface. This tunnel does have a light. The marathon does have an end line. The tightrope has a net. The basement does have a light switch so please… _flick._

The light will flood your vision and show you that you… you have made it.

If you still don’t understand then ask.. ask another runner in this maze of lies, darkness and the occasional laugh.

If you feel alone.. don’t.. there are others out here. 

Some don’t even want to reach the finish line, instead they are looking for you. 

They are looking for a lost straw in this stack of needles. 

Do you not understand?

Theres always someone.

Some of these straws of hay are needles in chalk board masks meant to hide their sad broken ghostly wails.

They only snicker their rotten, toothy cackles when they see they have caught you locked into their iron, chalky jaws.

The phrase nails on a chalk board comes from their jagged, snaggled teeth scrapping against their masks and causing that ugly fffucked up circus crowd laugh.

They make you the clown getting punished for just trying. 

They force you to walk the tightrope.

When they see you making it and being happy about it… they throw their rotten and needle soaked tomatoes at you.

Just so you fall on their glass shards with their ridged labels written on them.

When they see your blood they laugh and just say “oh look! They have special effects!” 

They say this and then make you say sorry at the end of the day for crying when they threw their tomatoes.

You have lost your way… but in your pocket is that small thin paper that can show you the way.

The only problem is… its stained with the purple color of your efforts being thrown back to the start of that maze. 

You don’t have to give up. 

Theres still people looking and coming together to form a search party, that only has a party after they find you and your happiness.

No matter how broken you and your happiness is, they will fix it.

Of course theres still the trial of the maze, but that can wait.

Because happiness is the most important part of this maze and if you aren’t happy then the maze has no point. 

These people have a party when they find you but you need t believe the crowd was wrong and you are not just a sad clown walking the tightrope at night.

You need to believe that this, this maze does have an end.

It does have a surface. 

It does have a light.

And you will reach it with that thin page filled with twists and turns meant to guide you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> b e l i e v e m y c h i l d r e n  
> things do get better you just have to let them.


End file.
